


By God's Grace

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Families of Choice, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Pastiche, Trope Bingo Amnesty, Trope Bingo Round 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No salvation for the two of them save each other and the gun he carried in his backpack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By God's Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StripySock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/gifts).



> It's been a while since I got the idea of a The Road/Les Mis fusion, if only as a snippet. This is set in the former's world, with all the grimness that implies, so I guess it's a modern AU as well as a post-apocalyptic one... (Also fair warning that this is an attempt at McCarthy pastiche, which means the punctuation isn't quite standard.) Thanks so much to Sath for feedback and encouragement!

When he woke up it was almost dawn and the silhouettes of bare trees against the horizon made him think of bony hands clawing at the sky in despair. He went to the stream and rinsed water and brought it back and made a fire and then he sat down next to the child and watched her sleep.

In his backpack there was still a couple of biscuits from the abandoned shop they had found a few days ago. He brought the water to a boil and then he crushed a biscuit into the pewter cup they shared and poured water over the crumbs and then he woke the girl and made her drink.

Aren't you having any, Papa?

I had some already. Drink now.

Stringy brown hair over a sunken face, large eyes full of trust. Look, he thought calling forth the memories of those to whom he owed everything. It didn't come to nothing in the end. We are still here.

 

At daybreak they were on the road again. The man carried the backsack which held their most valuable belongings and pushed the cart which held the rest and the girl walked next to him, clutching the doll he had made from strings and straw. Before them the road stretched out through desolate landscapes that used to have names.

During the night he'd had dreams of being chased and although the road lay empty miles before and behind them he was restless, the old fear in his blood driving his heart like a slaver. The girl started lagging behind after a while and he picked her up and let her ride on his shoulders, keeping his hands free for the cart. When do we get there? she asked.

Not for days yet.

He'll be there to help us?

He'll be there to help us.

The man knew it almost certainly to be a lie. The truth was plain to see all around them, stark ruined landscape with its wrecked cars and looted houses and dead trees. The truth as it was would kill the girl. In this world there was no line between lie and hope.

And so they walked on and the road wove endless before them, a threadbare bridge through the nothingness like his memories of the sun's reflection on glittering sea. Grey and brown plains and dried-up rivers and hill upon hill of old vineyards turned to dust.

 

A week later and the landscape was changing in its monotony, the mountains appearing in the distance before them jagged and old like the fangs of some fossilised monster. They had found food in an abandoned gas station, tins of beans and canned fruits, and the girl was not looking any thinner, which he daily counted amongst his blessings. Sometimes she would insist on helping to push the cart and he'd let her keep a small hand on the steering bar to let her feel obliged. In a different world there had been supermarkets with carts in them and children and parents going about their weekly shopping surrounded by abundance.

Look! she said pointing to their left as they turned a curve in the road. An empty garage some hundred yards away, a truck abandoned in front of it. The man paused. The girl's breathing faint against his ear.

She was not sick despite what the foster family had said. But it might easily happen still. Several times already they'd passed dead wasted bodies at the roadside, not yet torn apart and mangled, blood leaking from their mouths and noses. A gruesome death, if preferable to the more common one. No salvation for the two of them save each other and the gun he carried in his backpack. He'd taught her how to use it because he had to. She'd been on the verge of tears. I don't want to shoot you, Papa, she'd said. You won't, he'd said. You save the bullet for yourself.

He shoved the cart into the nearby remains of a bush and lifted the girl down from his shoulders. Stay here and don't move. All right?

Yes, Papa.

He gave her the backpack to hold and then stole forward, crouching low like an animal on the prowl. There might be gas in the truck. There might be food. There might also be dead bodies or worse, living ones. His heart hammered. He thought of the child.

The door on the driver's side was hanging open on rusty hinges. No sounds, nothing in sight. He searched quickly through the cab without finding anything of much use except for a bottle of water and a few paper tissues.

When he came back, the girl was sitting upright, the doll in her lap.

I thought I heard something. A boy.

A boy?

I thought I heard him crying.

He sat down and picked her up, cradled her like she cradled the doll. There's no one here. You imagined it. We're safe.

Oh, she said and rested her head on his shoulder. He got to his feet still holding her and slung the backpack over his shoulder and wrestled the cart upright.

Soon they were back on the road heading south. The girl wanted to walk. She held the man's hand, occasionally darting glances back. After a while she said, very softly, But what if he needed help?

 

As the night fell it started to rain, acid drops like soft heavy bullets from the sick sky. The man covered the cart with an old tarp and took out a plastic bag to put over the girl's hair in lieu of a hood and they trudged on until they reached a forest where it got too dark to see the road in front of them. They found a secluded spot amidst some withered shrubbery not far from the road but it was still raining too much for a fire. He took off his threadbare jacket and wrapped the girl in it and held her close and watched her fall asleep.

Then he leaned back against the cold rock behind him and breathed deeply. They were alone. There was no one around. She would remember sometimes people or noises and confuse them in her mind but he had heard nothing. They were safe for the moment.

Her mother's face clear in his memory, wasted and pale with sickness. With the world breaking down around them she had left him everything she'd lived for. Take her, she'd said not knowing he was hunted. Take her and keep her safe.

He was still hunted but no more than others. In the year that had passed since he had taken the girl away he'd been reminded each day that the old distinction applied no more. With no laws save for that of survival all men are equally flesh.

Another week at least until they were there. Then either a miracle or the truth of despair. 

By God's grace we have come this far. He touched the child's sallow cheek, pushed matted hair back from her brow, well aware of the gift he had been given. In another world she might not have loved me.

 

Day broke. They were back on the road. He had given the girl the last biscuit and boiled water for them both and now he was beginning to think they might not manage the journey over the mountains. They had passed a couple plundered gas stations but the nearest town or what had been a town was still hours away and there was no way of knowing what awaited them there.

The girl had been trudging alongside him, keeping a hand on the cart. Now she raised her head. Papa, I hear something.

The man listened. Somewhere in the forest in front of them there were the clamours and noises he had learned to recognise. Quickly he pushed the cart down off the road and into a ditch and covered it as well as he could with some dead branches. Then he grasped the girl's hand and they ran off the road and up the hill. They crouched behind a tree and the man drew the child to him and held her tight.

It did not take long before they arrived. There were about fifteen-twenty of them, straggly-haired and ragged. The men had long beards and carried large guns. One of the women was pregnant.

In the midst of the group there were three or four slaves dragging a cart filled with provisions. The tattered remains of their clothing seemed to mock their emaciated bodies which judging from the look on their faces were the only parts of their being still retaining some measure of life. In their previous lives they might have been judges or criminals, words that no longer held any meaning. When they finally keeled over they would be good for nothing but further provisions.

After they had passed it took a long while for the noise to die down. The girl trembled against him. The man swallowed and swallowed as sickness kept rising in his throat.

Finally there was silence. The girl looked up. She had seen such sights before but never this close. He realised that by now he was the only one still trembling and forced himself to let her go.

What are they, Papa?

Dangerous.

Are they still people?

Sometimes, said the man.

 

When he deemed it safe, they went back to the roadside and retrieved the cart. The man got out his map and showed it to the girl. We are getting closer to this place, he said and pointed at the town he remembered. But we must walk some more yet. Can you do it for me?

She nodded, her child's face set in determination. She trusted him with her life and for a moment he felt himself overwhelmed with terrified love. Looking towards the sky he folded the map and rose to his feet. Let's go.

 

After another week they reached the outskirts of the town.The houses lay empty like carcasses gnawed clean and there was no sign of life of any sort.

On the other side of the town old ruins hovered beneath the yellow skies. He thought of the Lord's words and wondered if there was still any place on Earth that could call itself a sanctuary. He had told the girl to hope and yet hope was dying in him. A flame, he thought, a lit candle. A smile and a touch and a voice that had called him brother, all those years ago.

He told the girl to wait behind the bramble in the wayside and then he went into the town to see if there was any place that had not yet been looted. Every house was as unwelcoming as it had been the first and last time he had been there although most doors were not shut but left ajar, gaping mouths in empty faces. He returned to where he had left the girl and could not find her. Panic choked him and he stumbled heavily against a nearby tree, staring blindly around him as his world collapsed.

A small hand touched his. Papa?

What are you doing? It was the first time he had raised his voice against her. Didn't I tell you to stay put?

I thought there was the boy again.

Again with this talk of the boy. He was filled with a strange and furious fear and sat down heavily with his back to the tree, passing a hand over his face. I thought I had lost her and I still might.

Her hand anew, this time on his face. Are you mad with me?

No. No.

He pulled her down and into his arms and she wrapped her tiny arms around him. He pressed his face into her shoulder and wanted to cry. There is no boy, he whispered, shuddering and unable to stop. There is no boy. There is only us. Only us.

 

As the sun was setting they approached the ruins after hiding the cart in a cellar nearby. A church that was no longer a church. Crumbled walls that once had surrounded a garden. A house that had welcomed him when no one else would. Were there still any sanctuaries in this world?

The girl held his hand as they pushed the gate open. Is he here?

We must find out.

There was no way to know what would meet them. Most likely there would be nobody or nothing but he had still brought his gun. A bullet for her if I can do it. Then I will welcome anything that follows. There is nothing more they can take from me by then.

Unlike most doors in the town, this one was shut. But it might not be locked. The windows were dark and there were no signs of life. But miracles had sprung out of nothingness before.

The child raised her fist then looked at him. Should I knock, Papa?

He thought of everything that had happened and that might still happen. Of a world without her in it. A world without hope. He loved her more than life itself and he knew that sooner or later he would let her down. He raised his hand and rested it on her head for a moment, felt the softness of her hair under his palm.

Do it, he said.


End file.
